


Try to Match Our Continents

by Bunn1cula



Series: our ships were meant to break [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: A LOT OF DIALOGUE, Dancing, Drinking, F/M, banter and witty repartee, ham-handed seismic metaphors, it's amazing they ever got to the kissing with all the talking they do, no kidding it's mostly dialogue, they talk too much for me to keep up, though a little world building does sneak in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-15 01:45:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11795859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunn1cula/pseuds/Bunn1cula
Summary: Jerjerrod tries to talk his way into a party without an invitation. Will the mysterious woman he met the week before be there?





	Try to Match Our Continents

As far as government buildings around the galaxy went, the judiciary house wasn't very old, only a little less than four thousand years old, which was a blink of an eye considering some structures in Coruscant’s Federal District had been standing for over twenty thousand years.

The striking beauty of Val Denn, with its jagged and verdant mountains forming a protective half ring around the bright capital city on the turquoise sea, had come at a price.

The same tectonic energy which millions of years before had created such dramatic terrain had also nearly been the cause of its destruction. The process that forced the ocean floor to yield to the land and crumple into steep volcanic peaks also caused the seismic event that nearly razed the city all the way to the surface of the dormant caldera it nestled in.  
  
In the years since, geologic technology had advanced to where groundquakes were no longer a threat, and the volcanoes themselves had been quietly slumbering under a blanket of flora for millennia; all of which left Val Denn to rebuild and become once again a young city.  
  
But while four thousand years may have been equivalent to a mere second in the existence of the civilized Galactic Core, to a young man of twenty like Tiaan Jerjerrod it seemed a very long time indeed. To him, the architectural carvings and statues inside the lofty atrium reflected a lengthy passage of time, with their hollow commemorations of otherwise long-forgotten Ancient Republic people and events.  
  
He tried to imagine from an architectural standpoint what it would have been like to design the reconstruction of an entire city, but judging by the predominant style of the time, the creative process would have evidently been plagued by a dodgy and wholly derivative revivalist aesthetic.

The atrium was empty of people save for an older man, a stuffy concierge-type with a long nose, baggy eyelids and a temporal comm implant, posted at what was presumably the entrance to the party. Jerjerrod walked toward the man, his footsteps clapping and echoing crisply under the high and fussily ornate ceiling.  
  
“Good evening, sir. Your invitation, please.”  
  
“Sorry?”  
  
“Your invitation to the gala. I’ll collect it now.”  
  
“Oh, I’ve…forgotten it.”  
  
“That’s all right, I can look you up. May I have your name?”  
  
“Ah…Jerjerrod.”  
  
The man produced a datapad. “Let me see…hmm…no, I don’t see that name, sir. Could it possibly be under another party?”  
  
“I seriously doubt it.”  
  
“Oh, I see. Well then, I’m terribly sorry.”  
  
“But I’m…well, you see, I’m a guest of the magistrate’s daughter.”  
  
“Which one?”  
  
“The, er…attractive one.” _Stupid_.  
  
“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific than that.”  
  
“The smart one?” He winced. _Fucking worse_.  
  
The doorman raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again when his implant began blinking red. He stepped to the side and swung the door open for an elderly couple in formal wear, each with a drink in hand.  
  
This was his opportunity. “Oh, blast it…look, I don’t actually know her name. I—I met her last week and she asked me to stop by this evening. Can’t you just let me in long enough to say hello? I’ll leave right after, I promise. You can even send someone in with me, to be sure I keep my word.”  
  
“I’m afraid security is very tight—”  
  
“Sithspit—please don’t make me beg you and embarrass us both.”  
  
“Just a moment.” The man shut the door, then turned his back and spoke into an unseen microphone in his implant. “Yes, are either Miss Ailsa or Miss Tarren available to come to the door? It’s about a guest who doesn’t have an invitation but says he’s acquainted with one of them. Oh…y-yes, hello, ma’am. Is he what?” He turned back to face Jerjerrod, observing him in a most opprobrious way. “Yes, I’d say he’s well under standard fifty. A what? No, his nose isn’t prosthetic, as far as I can tell. All right, yes, I see, thank you.”

The doorman shook his head. “I’m afraid they’re both indisposed at the moment but if you’d like, you can send a message to the magistrate’s office and request an invitation for next year.”  
  
“Next year? Are you bloody ser—oh, never mind. I understand now.” Chagrined, he turned to leave.  
  
A voice called behind him. Feminine. Familiar. “Well, I suppose two out of three isn’t bad. Isn’t that what they say?”  
  
It was her. She was utterly radiant in a golden gown and a bright smile. “Oh…good evening. I’m sorry, I thought…”  
  
“That I was busy? Well, I am. Quite busy, in fact, but my curiosity about who you might be got the better of me.”  
  
“I hope you aren’t too disappointed.”  
  
“The opposite, actually. I was hoping it was you.” She led him through the doors inside. He hoped the gushing attention from well-wishers would keep her from seeing his ridiculous grin at her admission. And stars, he prayed she wouldn’t notice the shade of red he was sure his face had gone, either.  
  
Someone carrying fizzing tulip-shaped glasses came by; she took two and placed one in his hand. “Would you like something to eat? There’s quite a spread over by that far wall.”  
  
“Oh…no, thank you. I—”  
  
“Too bad! The colo claw fish crudo is to die for. It’s so fresh, it’s still trying to bite people.”  
  
A middle-aged couple carrying the same drinks approached, the woman with a toothy smile that was white enough to blind. “Oh, hello there! Hendrew, darling, look who it is! Ailsa, you’re looking just beautiful, as always. And we are so delighted for your mother.”  
  
“Thank you both, Your Honors. I’m so glad you could come.”  
  
“Who’s your date?” said the man called Hendrew.  
  
They shared an awkward look. Before she could reply, he thrust out his hand. “Tiaan Jerjerrod. Pleased to meet you.”  
  
The man squeezed his hand in a crushing grip that was quite obviously intentional. “Jerjerrod, eh? You one of Jaron’s boys?”  
  
“His nephew.”  
  
“Ah. I didn’t think you looked raffish enough to belong to him.”  
  
“Hendrew!” said the woman, eyes narrowing while she still smiled.  
  
“Well, it’s lovely seeing you both again and I’ll tell Mum to look for you.” She pulled him away.  
  
“And we’ll give Willas your regards when he gets back from sweat lodge therapy on Kashyyyk,” said Hendrew.  
  
There was a spot against the nearest wall with a little breathing room, and they scuttled over to claim it before anyone else could.  
  
“I’m so sorry about that. Judge Rivas can be a bit rude when he’s had a few drinks.”  
  
“Who’s Willas?”  
  
“Their son. I broke it off with him last week and he didn’t take it well. It’s been awkward.”  
  
“Oh, I see.”  
  
“So, you said it’s…Tiaan, yes?”  
  
He nodded. “And Ailsa, was it?”  
  
“That’s right. So who’s your uncle? If Rivas knows him, he’s either rich or a criminal.”  
  
“I’m afraid rather both.”  
  
“Really! Tell, tell!” Her eyes lit up.  
  
He laughed. “I understand that when he was younger he gained some familiarity with the courts system; mainly with defense, if you take my meaning.”  
  
“Now I see Rivas was actually complimenting you. Not ‘raffish’ enough, indeed.”  
  
“To be fair, Uncle Jaron has mellowed in his middle age. He’s mostly a harmless sort of playboy these days. Indolent and louche. You’d like him.”  
  
She laughed. “That’s quite an assumption that I’d like to hear the reasoning behind.”  
  
“Everyone likes him,” he shrugged. “Except his ex-wives and my father.”  
  
“Holidays at your place must be smashing.”  
  
“They certainly can be.” He tugged on his ear and looked away. Across the room a service droid collided with an elderly Togrutan man and spilled a tray of canapés. He sipped his drink, a sweet concoction with a bitter citrus aftertaste. “So this is all for your mother?”  
  
“Yes, isn’t it lovely? Thirty years in the magistrate’s office. The last five at the top of it all. I’m so glad she’s being feted, she really does deserve it.”  
  
“And your father?”  
  
“Dead five years. But he wasn’t at all indolent and louche, so I don’t know if you’d have liked him.”  
  
He nearly choked on his drink. “Oh, damn—did I insult you before? I’m so sorry, I—”  
  
“Well, that didn’t come out as clever as I’d intended. Sometimes my mouth runs ahead of me, please forgive me.”  
  
“I’m an idiot, I apologize. I really was only trying to be funny. Entirely too hard, as it turns out.” He wiped his mouth with his handkerchief and handed their nearly-empty glasses to a passing waiter. “Erm, would you like to dance?”  
  
She looked to the floor and upturned the corners of her mouth into a playful pout. “I thought for certain you were about to say you had to leave.”  
  
He shook his head, smiled, and offered his hand. Returning his smile, she took it. 

_A mid-tempo waltz. Right. Keep it simple but with some style so she knows we know what we’re doing…_  
  
“You cut your hair,” she said, effortlessly matching his steps.  
  
“I didn’t want to be out of fashion.”  
  
“Oh,” she laughed, “but fashion is so ephemeral. Your curly mop may have been fantastically in vogue next week. You may have even set a trend.”  
  
“Trendsetting is something I’ve never once been accused of.”  
  
“There’s a first time for everything.”  
  
An elbow banged into his left kidney, and another couple’s joined hands nearly knocked her in the temple before she ducked away, so he led them to an area of the floor with slightly less traffic. “I have to ask…’two out of three isn’t bad.’ Was that business out front another one of your tests?”  
  
She looked up at him with a sphinx’s smile and a half-raised brow, then shifted her gaze away. “What do you think?”  
  
“I think it was. And I want my score.”  
  
“The necklace and coming here tonight were both pluses. Being persuaded to leave so easily was a negative. Not perfect marks, but fair.”  
  
“Ah. Well, in my defense, I don’t believe any of it was fair at all.”  
  
“Oh? Why’s that?”  
  
“Because I didn’t know I was being tested. How was I to prepare?”  
  
“That was precisely the point of it, kind sir.”  
  
“Well, it wasn’t very kind of _you_. It’s rude to play with men like that. We’ve got feelings, too, you know.”  
  
She snorted a laugh. “Oh, sweet youth. What things you have to learn.” She leaned in close and whispered into his ear, “We are all being tested, all the time, from birth to death. You should always be expecting it, from anyone and everyone.”  
  
The ominous words delivered with such sweet secret warmth from pink, pillowy lips barely brushing the pinna of his ear… _damn_. Sudden raw desire flushed through him and frothed his imagination into quick chaos.  
  
The song came to an end and he dipped her daringly low. Her eyes stayed locked on his, defiantly trusting, betraying no surprise. “You’re a very good dancer,” she said, keeping her arched body completely still.  
  
“So are you.” Feather-light in his hold, she practically pulled herself out of the dip on her own. She was strong and lean and unapologetically sexy. A feral reverie of what she would look like naked and straddling him slashed through his mind.  
  
Was she preying on his momentary weakness? He needed to regain control. He was better than this.  
  
The curvy sweetheart neckline of her dress caught his eye. He imagined pulling it down, revealing what had to be _perfect_ —  
  
Fuck. Evidently he was _not_ better than this.  
  
Slower music now. Better for talking. “Are you in school?” he asked, settling them into a leisurely two-step, yanking back the reins on his bolting thoughts.  
  
“No, I’m a workforce prole.”  
  
“Oh. Where?”  
  
“Corulag. Well, mainly in orbit above it.”  
  
“Don’t tell me you work for Sienar.”  
  
“I do, as a matter of fact.”  
  
"Ah, the competition. Or rather, very nearly."  
  
"How's that?"  
  
"I'm being courted by the CEC. I imagine I'll take their offer next year after graduation."  
  
"Why not Sienar?"  
  
"I'm more interested in the big Corellian ships than small fighters and such. Speaking of which, do you build flying coffins, or their engines?”  
  
“Erm, neither. Bit more advanced than that.”  
  
“Can you tell me?”  
  
“Not about most of it, as we’ve recently gone under military contract. But it’s primarily energy-related research.”  
  
“Wow. I…I expected you were much younger than you evidently are.”  
  
“Well, I’m not sure how old you think I am, but I did finish my degrees a little early.”  
  
“What’s ‘a little early’?”  
  
“Two years for undergrad particle physics, one for postgrad at Byblos.”  
  
“Hutt’s bollocks! Are you joking?”  
  
“You seem to be under the mistaken impression that I’m some kind of comic.”  
  
He slowed their pace. “Actually, I’m wondering what you’re doing even talking to me. I’m feeling especially unexceptional at the moment.”  
  
“Comparisons are worthless. We are what we are. And I rather enjoy talking to you. You’re much funnier than you first appear, and you don’t step all over my toes when we dance.”  
  
“Mother would be glad to hear the money she spent on my lessons didn’t go to waste.”  
  
“Your mother did you a favor. You must know that women usually expect that a man who’s good on the dance floor is also good in other places.”  
  
“Oh? Where?”  
  
“The, ah, Deep Core.”  
  
“Byss?” he smirked.  
  
“No…”  
  
He realized his left hand had been caressing the small of her back, and that her fingers had moved from his shoulder to the nape of his neck. Her fingernails traced through the sensitive recently-shorn hairs at his neckline, and his body flagrantly disobeyed his order not to respond to the touch.

“You know,” he said, extending his fingers as low as he dared along her back’s midline, “they say navigation can be very strange in the Deep Core; physics become unpredictable and it can be extremely challenging to keep your bearings.”

“They say, hmm? So no practical experience yourself there?”  
  
“I didn’t say that.”  
  
“So you’re an expert.”  
  
“I didn’t say that, either.” He laughed, suddenly self-conscious. This kind of banter was new territory and his map was frightfully blank. “What were we talking about again?”  
  
“Well, I was in fact speaking of how a man’s dancing abilities are often presumed to directly correlate to his abilities in the bedroom.”  
  
“What an interesting theory.” Fuck, she was bold. His cheeks flared hot. She was daring him, there was no doubt.

“Theories are meant to be tested. Very thoroughly, and hopefully by a qualified researcher.”  
  
Finding his nerve, he leaned in. “Are you a qualified researcher?”  
  
“Star of the lab.”  
  
Warm breath on his chin, soft breasts pressing tighter against his chest with each inspiration. They danced slow and so close that it had to appear unseemly, but he couldn’t care about anything except

 _this moment right now nothing else will ever matter like this moment_  
  
and the room blurred into blotches of flung paint, and the din of music and voices dampened as if his ears had become conch shells. He relinquished command and his body gave into gleeful insurrection.  
  
Her eyes sought his and he found the courage to meet them. Black, so black—two portals to the limitless expanse of infinite space. Twin suns of glinting white light in her pupils drawing him into their interminable orbit. He realized that ever lying to them would be pointless. Wiser than the universe itself, they must know everything.  
  
He was lost, and never so glad for it.  
  
The words tumbled out before he could stop them. “Would it be terribly forward if I asked to kiss you right now?”  
  
“Utterly scandalous, and I’d be gutted if you didn’t.”


End file.
